


A Night to Remember

by heeroluva



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Dubious Consent, M/M, Minor Eggpreg, Size Kink, Stomach Bulge, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles, Urethral Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-02 16:39:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6573874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heeroluva/pseuds/heeroluva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Andre walks in on something he couldn't have imagined in his wildest dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Night to Remember

**Author's Note:**

  * For [labellementeuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/labellementeuse/gifts).



It isn’t unusual for Andre to stop by Willy and Latts’ place unannounced, letting himself in with the key that they insisted he keep when he decided he needed to get his own space (which yeah, maybe that wasn’t the brightest thing he’d ever done, since he still ends up here most of his free evenings). But tonight they’d invited him over, needing a night to just forget and relax, to focus on the future. They weren’t out yet.

Entering the apartment, Andre finds it strangely dark and quiet, the living room dark, the TV off. Hesitantly he walks down the hall towards the light slipping out from beneath Latts’ door. Normally he’d have called out by now, but there’s a heaviness in the air that makes him hold his tongue. Knocking on the door, Andre hesitates, before hearing a groan, and he throws the door open worried that Latts is hurt somehow.

Andre freezes, one hand on the door knob, one foot in the door as his brain tries to process the images that his eyes are showing him. Sex should have crossed his mind, but this definitely isn’t something he could have imagined walking into. This has to be a dream or a nightmare, because bodies don’t stretch like that (but apparently Latts’ does), and that’s Willy’s face, but that can’t be his body because Andre’s seen him naked enough times to know that he certain _didn’t_ have tentacles (the same dark blue of their uniforms, a part of his brain noted).

Two sets of eyes are on him, Latts’ wide and glassy, Willy’s heavy lidded and heated, and the tentacles haven’t _stopped_ moving, pushing deeper into Latts’ body, up his way too stretched ass, down his throat, a smaller tendril that even seems to be disappearing into his cock. The squelching sound is obscene, and the scent of sex is nearly overpowering.

Andre has a moment of conflict, unsure what of what he wants, what he should do before he finally settles on getting the fuck out of there. When his body finally catches up with his brain and he turns to run, it’s too late, and something slick (a tentacle, an unhelpful part of his brain supplies through his hysteria) wraps around his ankle and tugs him back. He falls with an _oof_ , and he’s pulled towards the bed (and fuck if he’s going to get shit for the bruises and the carpet burn).

In short order, he finds himself on his back beside Latts who’s giving him a dopy grin (or as much of a grin as someone can give when they have a tentacle shoved down their throat), the way he gets when they give him the good meds. Drugged, Latts’ been drugged, that’s why he’s not freaking. Then Latts’, _Mike’s_ , lips are on his, and it’s enough of a shock that he can almost ignore the hands that are tugging at his clothes because he might have jerked off to the idea of one or both of these men on more than a handful of occasions.

Shoving at them, Andre realizes that there aren’t just hands pulling at him when two tentacles wind around his wrists. “Willy, Tom, what the fuck, man!? What are you doing?”

It’s Mike who replies, tugging at the tentacle shoved down his throat, like the emerging length wasn’t long enough to reach his fucking _stomach_. “Bad timing,” Mike says, voice rough and low. “Forgot you were coming, or I’d have told you to stay home.”

It’s not an answer, and leaves Andre with more questions than answers, but before he can voice them, there is the sound of rending cloth, and suddenly Andre is naked, his clothing in irreparable tatters, and his traitorous dick is on display. He chokes as the slick tentacles slide over his body, turning his head when one nudges against his lips. It’s not deterred, and when two push his legs up and spread him wide open, he can’t help the gasp that allows it to slide past his lips when one probes at his asshole.

“Relax,” Mike murmurs into Andre’s ear. “Tom won’t hurt you. Expand your horizons, certainly, but by the end, you’ll be begging for it.” As though to prove his point, Mike’s hands fall down to the bulge of his stomach, and he groans.

A liquid fills his mouth, the tentacle in his mouth suddenly leaking a strangely bitter and spicy fluid, and Andre is forced to choose between swallowing or choking. A part of him says that this is fucked up, that it’s wrong and horrifying, but the larger traitorous part of his body wants to see where this goes. Tom had so readily proven that Andre couldn’t get away if he’d tried, his tentacles inhumanly strong, and Tom had more of them than Andre could count.

Andre swallows once, twice, and a slow smile spreads across Tom’s face, predatory, pleased. Andre wonders if maybe he should be worried, if he should feel trapped, but instead he finds himself relaxing as the tentacle pours more of the thick liquid down his throat. Andre swallows until his stomach feels uncomfortably full, and whining his displease, the tentacle is suddenly gone from his mouth.

Mike twists to kiss him. It’s wet and messy, Mike clearly lost in his own pleasure, but Andre can barely focus on it when multiple tentacles of various sizes are sliding teasingly across his asshole. Sometimes one seems to take the initiative, pressing against the tight muscle just until it gives, only to pull away.

Of course, Tom would be a fucking asshole in this too. Andre opened his mouth to call him out on it, but any words that he might have had were lost in a groan as one of the tentacles finally pushes its way inside, the slickness easing the burn of untried muscles. It was a small tentacle, Andre notes, barely an inch thick, but it feels huge, and if that caused this much of a stretch, Andre can’t begin to imagine what Mike is feeling.

It sinks deeper, so deep that Andre is certain that it has to almost be at the back of his throat even knowing that isn’t possible. And then another tentacle is pushing itself in beside the first one as they twine around each other, and Andre suddenly understands Mike’s words ‘expand your horizons’. Ha. Well, he guesses something will certainly be expanding.

As though Andre didn’t have enough to focus on at the moment, Mike head drops to his chest, teeth closing over his nipple in a way that causes him to jerk against the tentacles still holding him in place. That is certainly new. His nipples had never been particularly sensitive before.

Before he can voice his question at that, the tentacle is back at his mouth, and Andre just opens for it, knowing that there is no fighting it. He can’t see the tentacles circling around his ever leaking cock. However, he can feel something prod at the tip of his cock, poking at his piss slit, and then with unerring focus, it sinks inside.

Andre tries to shout around the tentacle in his mouth, but it just takes the opportunity and sinks deeper, bulging out his throat as he’s forced to breathe shallowly through his nose.

It hurts; it feels amazing. It’s both the best and worst thing he’s ever felt in his life, and Tom is fucking into him in three holes with far too many tentacles, and Mike is playing with his nipples like they’re his new favorite toy, and Andre is coming harder than he ever had in his life, muscles pulled so tight, he half wonders if he’s seizing before he can’t think at all, can only feel and come, but he can’t come, the tentacle down his cock preventing that, and it goes on and on, the seemingly endless pleasure that runs just this side of pain until his brain shuts down from sensory overload and lack of air.

 

All Andre can do is feel lost in a sea of sensation. He feels stretched to the breaking point, filled to overflowing and then some, but it’s the best he’s ever felt in his life. Even as his eyes drift over the bulge of his stomach, he can’t find it in himself to care. He’s not as big as Mike is, and Tom’s voice is a steady murmur of praise in his ear. It fills him with happiness that Tom thinks he is being so good for him. He wants to keep being good for him.

 

Andre wakes to raised voices.

“—should have asked, Tom!”

“Latts, babe, don’t be like that. You know how it is. I can’t control it.”

“Liar. Don’t call me ‘babe’. You just don’t want to. Especially the eggs.”

“How could I tell him no? He was begging for it.”

“He was so drugged his eyeballs were floating. He would have agreed to anything you said, Tom. He didn’t know what he was asking for.”

Andre’s brain is slow to process the conversation, slow to remember what had happened last night, how much he’d had to drink. Last night had been—

Eyes flying open, Andre jerks upright and groans at the sudden movement because everything hurts, and he feels strangely heavy in the middle.

Eyes resting on his stomach, he hesitantly rests a hand on the bulge there, nowhere the size that it had been when he’d been stuffed full of Tom’s tentacles (which are currently nowhere in sight), but certainly not his normal washboard abs.

“Eggs?” Andre asks, voice high with disbelief as he glances at the clock. “We have a game in six hours!”

Tom wears a look that’s halfway between smug and chagrined and Mike is laughing into his hand.

“You’ll only need ten minute,” Mike says with a secret grin.

“For what?” Andre asks, not understanding. Then his guts shift, and—that was the longest ten minutes of his life.


End file.
